His Hair
by EpitomeOfBoredom
Summary: His hair was beautiful. HashiMada. Reviews are very much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**All characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto**.

….

His hair was soft.

That was what crossed Madara's mind when he accidentally grabbed a fistful of Hashirama's hair in an attempt to block the latter's attack. It was during one of the last battles leading to the formation of Konoha. He could still vividly recall the look in Hashirama's eyes when his hand entangled itself in the long, brown hair.

Startled.

Maybe he did not expect that, and despite the direness of the situation, he was, after all ,going against the man revered as the god of shinobi, he was struggling to stop the ghost of a playful smirk at bay.

So, there was something that could catch Hashirama off guard in a battle. He would remember that for future references.

…..

His hair was silky.

They were rolling on top of each other down a small hill just outside of Konoha. Drunk as much as one could be, the undignified display was initiated by a childish banter fuelled by immature resentment towards his counterpart's slightly superior skills in skipping stones. Or his ability to charm everybody he met. Or at being a leader. Or at being a person in general.

He could no longer think of whose idea it was to enjoy sake while gazing at the sunset after Senju-Uchiha alliance was finalised, or why in seven heavens he agreed to the idea but he would never forget, despite the sake induced haziness, the feeling of Hashirama's hair occasionally caressing his cheeks. Or the feeling he refused to name in his warm, brown eyes. Or those pink tinted high cheekbones, sprinkled with orange from the setting sun.

Yes, he would never stop thinking of them, although if you ask him, he would probably shrug it off, while staring menacingly at you with his Eternal Mangekyou Sharingan spinning wildly.

"See? I told you. You can never surpass me, Madara." The smugness in Hashirama's voice was very uncharacteristic of the humble shinobi, but he probably was not thinking straight. Madara surprisingly did not mind the fact that he was pinned down by Hashirama on the ground. No, he was far more interested in his new found interest in Hashirama's hair.

He raised his right hand. The strands felt heavenly, slipping through his ungloved fingers. Perhaps it was the alcohol but he did not feel the usual urge to argue any longer. "If you say so, Hashirama." He tugged suddenly, so harshly that the Senju could not resist the force, which caused his lips to crash with the Uchiha's.

Even though alcohol may have clouded his judgement, it was perhaps not enough for Hashirama to keep going on with Madara's flow. He pulled back the instance his lips touched Madara's. "What are you doing?!"

Madara ignored him, pulling him down for a proper kiss, but it was stopped by a rough, calloused hand on his pale wrist. "Madara.." He could hear a slight tremble in Hashirama's voice. From what, he decided not to ponder.

Instead, he snorted. "Oh come on, Senju, don't pretend you don't want this." He wedged his knee between Hashirama's leg, brushing against the latter's evident arousal. Thinking back, he must have been possessed by some sort of sex crazed spirit,for ,him, the stoic, apathetic, calm and composed Uchiha Madara-sama, to initiate the brazen act. Why the hell was he horny again? Oh right. He wanted to see if Hashirama's hair would feel nice against the other parts of his body. Particularly the part just below his abdomen that was painfully erect and hard.

"You are not in your right mind Madara. You will definitely regret this." But he could feel the grip at his wrist loosen anyway so he proceeded with his intention, sealing their lips together.

Through the bites, scratches and strong fingers burying themselves in the other's flesh, Madara confirmed that any part of his body that came in contact with Hashirama's hair was indeed covered in delightfulness.

…..

His hair was ridiculously long.

Madara was feeling annoyed. He stared at his rival cum somehow lover who was diligently brushing his hair in front of the dressing mirror in their shared bedroom.

"Hashirama! We are going to be late. Will you hasten with your endless combing?!" He uncrossed his arms, before crossing them back for the umpteenth time. He stared hard at the mirror as Hashirama met his gaze through their reflection. The Hokage pouted (which was unsightly for a man almost thirty of age) while continuing with his endeavour.

"Hashirama!" He was losing his patience, fast. The daimyo would be arriving to the village soon, and it would certainly not do for the Hokage to be late, because uh-apparently his hair was not free of knots, and yeah, of course having a perfectly smooth hair was far more important than attending to the Lord of Fire Country on time.

A cloud of depression hung over Hashirama's stature. "You don't have to shout at me.." Oh kami, he did not have to deal with this right now! Madara covered the distance between them in a few long strides. He roughly jerked the hairbrush from Hashirama, brushing his hair in several quick motions,freeing the hair of any knot.

Hashirama immediately beamed with happiness, it almost pained Madara to watch him, the esteemed God of Shinobi act like a five year old. Madara glanced at his own reflection in the mirror. His thick mane framed his pale face as usual, unruly and free. Seriously, he would never understand Hashirama's perfectionism with his hair.

Madara walked with Hashirama side by side to their destination; the hall where Tobirama and Mito would hold their wedding reception. Just before entering said hall, Hashirama put on his ugly, unfashionable Hokage hat. Silently Madara thanked the heavens for not choosing him to be the Hokage, for he would never put on such hideous accessory on top of his head. He would however always regret not scrutinising what the official Hokage attire would be for such disagreeable could never compliment Hashirama's resplendent, long hair.

….

His hair was beautiful.

Madara glanced at the man laying on the bed next to him. His slow, steady breathing indicated that he was fast asleep, if his loud snoring did not. Madara allowed a smile to grace his features, a rare occurrence to those who knew him, for the Uchiha patriarch was more known for his permanent frown.

Hashirama was aging, although not ungracefully, with signs of age beginning to appear on his features. His once thick, silky brown hair now had a few strands of silver. His laughing lines were more prominent. A few almost unnoticeable lines began to appear on his forehead.

Madara reached to stroke his lover's hair. He could feel Hashirama stir under his ministrations, and sure enough Hashirama's eyelids fluttered open to reveal a pair of the most mesmerising brown eyes Madara had ever known.

"What's wrong Madara?" Instead of answering, Madara craned his neck to plant a soft peck on Hashirama's parted lips. He wounded his arms around the familiar nape, before his kisses travelled to the other part of Hashirama's face. Such gentleness was uncommon, but not unappreciated, for he could feel Hashirama snaking his arms around his waist, before those rough hands made their way under his shirt eliciting muffled moans from the raven.

In the afterglow of their unusually slow love making, Madara allowed himself to be pillowed by Hashirama's strong arm. It was a little out of character for him, but perhaps almost two decades with Hashirama had soften him a little. He watched as Hashirama's breathing gradually even out, before a soft snore intruded his ears. The moonlight poured upon them through the partition of their bedroom curtain, permitting Madara to silently observe the man who he had been held by, and sometimes held, without restrain.

He observed the rhythmic rise and fall of Hashirama's chest. His hair was spread on the pillow under him. The occasional silver strands were made more obvious by the moonlight, nevertheless Hashirama's hair was still as breathtaking as when he first laid his eyes on it.

His Hashirama may no longer had the same youthful qualities to him, but he was no less attractive in Madara's eyes. He almost snorted at the thought, for he did not know since when Hashirama as a whole became appealing to him. However, nearing fifty as he was, he learnt not to fret at every single abnormality in his trains of thoughts.

He snuggled deeper into Hashirama's embrace. Hashirama was beautiful, his hair most of all but somehow every part of him was beautiful to Madara. The Uchiha slowly allowed sleep to lull him with the thought.

…

I **don't know if I should write a Hashirama's POV as well. Thoughts? Thank you very much for sparing your time to read this.**


	2. Chapter 2

His hair was unusual.

Gravity defying styles were among the many hairstyles fashioned by members of Senju and Uchiha alike but to Hashirama, there was something about Madara spiky , neck long hair that triggered his interest. He would fondly remember the back of the Uchiha slinging stones across the river, hoping to reach the other side. Why, from the back, his head resembled a hedgehog to Hashirama.

There was just something, some unexplainable quality to the then unknown boy that made him want to know him better.

And so he picked up the best stone he could find and hurled it pass Madara, so that when the boy turns towards him, he would be able to flash his brilliant smile; offering his two cents on how to successfully skip stones in the pretense of striking an offhanded conversation, while in truth, he may had spent a good half an hour behind Madara before mustering his courage.

Madara sharply turned towards him.

Nah, not a hedgehog, a porcupine. With his hair strands all going in different directions, the crease between his frowning brows and pissed off eyes. The blackest eyes he had ever seen in his life. Dark, just like the way his hair was, as if the most starless of nights.

….

His hair was wild.

Hashirama had been harbouring a not so secret crush for Madara for the longest time. Perceptive as the other was, he was sure that Madara had noticed his romantic sentiment towards him, although, like the wise clan leader the raven was, he pretended not to. For that , Hashirama was eternally grateful.

It was a week after their, err, not-so-platonic association on top of the hill on the outskirts of Konoha. Hashirama decided to walk around the village,somehow 'accidentally' venturing into the infamous Uchiha compound. He was aware that his presence invited more than a few curious stares from members of the clan, but of course he acted as though he did not. Somehow both Madara and him were so busy with the newly form villages' affairs that the had not had the chance to even chat without one of them tending to other matters.

Or rather, more accurately, Madara did not have time for him.

In truth, he knew that Madara had been purposely avoiding him for the past week, thus when the sight of the Uchiha releasing his ball of fire into water entered his field of vision, he could not stop himself from literally sprinting to his side.

"Madara!"

If he was not such a keen analyser, he may had missed the slight widening of Madara's eyes, but he was not called the God of Shinobi for nothing. He noticed a few young Uchiha standing around Madara, who looked slightly intrigued rather than wary, unlike the adult members of the clan, of his sudden appearance, before their attention was snatched by Madara's thundering voice.

"Pay attention! Kagami! Look here!" Madara refocused his stare into the water. "This is the last time I am showing this to you. After this I expect all of you to memorise the seals." Hashirama observed as Madara's hands expertly formed the seals for Katon Goukakyuu no Jutsu, although the speed was a bit lagging compared to his usual fastness, perhaps so that the kids could memorise them. He noted how the latter's chest swelled with chakra, before the chapped lips parted to release a majestic globe of flames.

'Ah, Madara was showing the youngsters how to perform the clan's signature jutsu, he must not be very busy.' He decided to tag along with the demonstration, ignoring the displeased looks thrown by several Uchiha. He watched as Madara's waist length hair got blown away by the sheer force of his jutsu, revealing the side of his face that was usually kept covered. During that particular moment, there was only one word he was able to think of.

Wild.

…

His hair was coarse.

It was during one of their earliest couplings, after Madara came term with his feelings, that he noticed how coarse Madara's hair was. It was a total contrast to his own, he noted as he tugged at the midnight locks. Madara looked up to meet his eyes, his Sharingan active. Somehow the sight of the mighty Uchiha Madara sama on his knees, indulging Hashirama by fulfilling his selfish sexual needs, aroused the Hokage to no end.

"What?"

Madara's lips were red and moist, and a little bit swollen as well. Trails of pearly white liquid were dripping from the sides of his mouth. Hashirama refused to answer, instead he pulled his lover up until they were of eye levels with each other, before slamming his lips to the other's. One hand buried itself in Madara's hair, while the other travelled to the other parts of his body. He winced when he felt Madara's long nails scratching his back, indicating the Uchiha's displeasure for having his question left hanging.

In their long history of being together, it was one of the infrequent instances where Hashirama did not bother with dragging the act any longer, lifting the Uchiha's legs so the wound around around his waist before immersing himself all the way to the hilt inside the the other, in one quick motion.

There was blood of course, but what is the use of having superior medical skills, if not using them to his advantages, he reasoned with Madara when the other yelled at him in the aftermath for giving him no warning. Although, afterwards there were three new facts about Madara he learnt about. One, sexual intercourse should be performed according to Madara's pace. Two, Madara is quite vindictive, as Hashirama could barely walk without limping after he returned the favour when he held Hashirama, and prohibiting him to heal himself and three, his hair was very coarse.

When he pointed out the third to Madara the other replied by telling him only sissies would spend hours in front of the mirror tending to their hair, like a certain somebody.

"I have never been too fond of conditioners. I shampoo enough. Not everybody is obsessed with his hair." His eyes were mocking as he smirked at Hashirama.

Hashirama would never let Madara know that he paid his hair so much attention because, even though Madara thought his preferentialism for Hashirama's hair is well concealed, he knew that Madara loved his hair. After all, if there is any part of him that would interest Madara in him even in the slightest, he would do his best to perfect the said part.

….

His hair was beautiful.

The was a large scar on Madara's back that was usually hidden by his hair. Hashirama would never forget how regretful he felt when his mokuton sliced through Madara's skin, tearing it open, despite that it was during one of their most heated battles and he was knocked away by the perfect Susano'o soon after. He had countlessly offered Madara to heal the scar, although he knew that if he had truly desired for the scar to disappear, even the most mediocre of the Uchiha medical shinobis would be able to heal it instantly, since it was only a flesh would. Why Madara decided to keep the scar, is not a matter he was prepared to rake his brain for.

Still, Hashirama rued the day his mokuton marred the pale flesh, prompting his semi conscious action of stroking the scar every time held Madara. He knew Madara noticed this, but both pretended not to, although as if to soothe his guilt Madara would momentarily cease with his rough biting and clawing and plant soft kisses and caress instead.

That was Hashirama at the beginning of their relationship. After close to twenty years with Madara, he began to take pride as the only one to have his mark on the shinobi, which was very unlike him, but spending almost everyday with Mada probably had effects both good and bad on him.

"Perhaps his insanity has rubbed itself onto you." His brother would say, however Tobirama had always had this unjustifiable hatred towards his Uchiha companion, so his opinions on circumstances concerning Madara are not always reliable and never unbiased.

It was one of the rare occasions where Madara did not disentangled himself from Hashirama after, behold, an even rarer slow and affectionate lovemaking. He even allowed Hashirama to pillow him with his arm. Hashirama lovingly ran his fingers through Madara's ebony mane, occasionally brushing against his bare skin.

Age was catching up with his Madara, there were lines of silver among the thick coal hair, his eye bags were more pronounced, and even if Madara rarely smiled, there were crinkles around his eyes when he did. Nevertheless, Madara in his afterglow, with sweat beads trickling down his forehead, a small satisfied cat-like grin with strands of his hair damp against his cheeks, was the most alluring sight to Hashirama.

When he peered up to meet Hashirama's eyes from his lashes, the Hokage ceased with his petting, pulling Marada deeper into his hug. Yes, everything about Madara; his black, deep eyes, his scarred skin, his shy smile and even his untamed hair was beautiful to Hashirama. He allowed sleep to overtake him with the love of his life relaxing in his hold.

Outside, the owl hooted at the full moon.

…

 **Thank you so much for reading! :D please leave a review if you have the time. Thank you.!**


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